


Life in Waiting

by Tricki



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany keeps Jorah waiting, F/M, Secret Relationship, Tyrion drinks and knows things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricki/pseuds/Tricki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not Ser Jorah Mormont who Tyrion Lannister expected to answer his knock on the door of the Khaleesi’s quarters at an hour too early for breakfast to have been served.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life in Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Game of Thrones story. Basically Dany and Jorah are perfect beautiful babies who punch me in the feels and I want them to be happy.

It is not Ser Jorah Mormont who Tyrion Lannister expected to answer his knock on the door of the Khaleesi’s quarters at an hour too early for breakfast to have been served.  Nor did Tyrion expect to see Ser Jorah in a state of dress unfit for his Khaleesi; but, the imp rationalises, it is unreasonably early.  He would not have ordinarily have been clothed at such an early hour, and Mormont has obviously made greater haste than he has. 

Such haste in fact, that he still seems to be wriggling his way into one of his boots. 

“Have you informed the Queen, then?” 

Jorah falters.  Informed her of what, precisely?  “No.  No, she is still... eating.” 

“No matter.”  Tyrion states mildly before strolling into the room.  Jorah’s lips tighten.  Gods, the imp was such a Lannister. 

“So how did you hear the news?”  Tyrion enquires, perusing the chamber and settling himself on a chair, commanding the space as if he were entitled to do so.  _You’re not at King’s Landing anymore, my friend_.  Jorah thinks, although Tyrion hasn’t been at King’s Landing for some time.

“Grey Worm.”  Jorah says flatly, wishing the imp would take his leave but knowing the unlikelihood of this.

“Is that so?  He told nothing of it to me.”  There is no hint of accusation in the comment.  He is simply making conversation.

“What are your thoughts on the matter, then?”  Jorah asks, hoping to gain enough information to continue the charade of his already knowing what in the Seven Kingdoms the Lannister is talking about.

“Good of you to ask.  My thoughts are that any threat from the Sons of the Harpy should be taken with due seriousness.” 

“It is unlike the Harpy to give prior warning of their attacks.”  Is Jorah’s observation as he clicks easily into the role of Queensguard - albeit formerly disgraced and exiled Queensguard.  Jorah takes a seat opposite Tyrion.  “I think the presence of the Dothraki army is causing them to panic.  It must be clear the Khaleesi has too many men for the Harpy to maintain their campaign to overthrow her now.”

“Well, the Captain of the Unsullied thought it worthy of the Queen’s attention.”  Tyrion takes a considered pause, running his eyes over Jorah’s attire, his casual breeches, his improperly fastened shirt that hangs open almost to his navel.  “And so, it seems, did you.”

Jorah doesn’t falter, even though Tyrion is beginning to seem suspicious.  “The Khaleesi is responsible for this city and its people.  She has a right to be informed of threats to their security.”

Daenerys, choosing the worst possible moment to make her presence known, strolls into the room, announcing “It is not like you to keep me waiting, Ser Jorah.”  The smile puling at her lips falters slightly when her eyes land not on her bear, but on Tyrion Lannister.  Tyrion quickly averts his gaze from the stark naked Queen before him. 

“Your Grace.”  He says, nodding respectfully, eyes still trained on the floor.  Jorah bends around the side of his chair, using every ounce of strength to meet only Daenerys’ eyes.

“Tyrion was discussing a threat we’ve received from the Sons of the Harpy.”  He says.  The pair shares a smile of shared secrets; a smile of plans interrupted and unresolved desires.  They are stated and still hungry all at once.  At long last Jorah lets his eyes travel over her, and feels his need to get Tyrion out of the chamber increase exponentially. 

“It’s unlike the Harpy to give us forewarning.”  Daenerys remarks, and Jorah smiles widely now. 

“That was my contention also, Khaleesi.”  He says, softly emphasising her title, letting it rumble through his chest.  Daenerys manages not shiver, but only just. 

“I trust my Captain to handle such threats until I am ready to meet with my Council.”  Daenerys instructs Tyrion - who has now taken to sneaking furtive glances at her. 

“Of course, my Queen.” 

With a suggestive curve to her lips, Daenerys offers her hand to her bear.  Jorah, never one to disappoint his Khaleesi, rises from his seat and takes her fingers in his.

“You may show yourself out.”  Daenerys instructs over her shoulder.  As Tyrion is doing so he glances back at her in time to see the old knight pressing a kiss to her translucent shoulder, the silver haired Queen placing one in return to the top of his ginger head.  The imp knows he’s intruding and absents himself. 

“You of all people criticising me for keeping you waiting, Daenerys.”  Jorah chides, his mouth still against her shoulder.

“Well, you of all people know the frustration of it.”  She retorts with a wry smile, turning towards him so she can kiss him.  Her kiss is languid, but dripping with desire. 

“You are wearing too many clothes for my liking, my love.”  Daenerys is lifting the hem of his shirt even as she says it, although she’s not tall enough to get the garment over his head while he’s standing.  Gentleman as he is, he does the work for her, peeling his shirt off and discarding it over his head, toeing off his boots as he does. 

Daenerys, pleased with this outcome, reaches up and pulls her bear back to her, bringing his lips back to hers as she pushes his breeches down his legs, caressing his still muscled rump on her way back up his body. 

“Daenerys...”  He breathes, the feeling of her hands on his body still turning him to liquid every time. 

“Yes...?”  She purrs as she gently pushes him back towards a plush, pillow topped sofa. 

Daenerys reaches between his legs as he reaches for her hips, bringing her towards him.

Jorah presses his open mouth against her neck and murmurs the words “I love you,” against her skin.  Daenerys lowers herself onto him and meets his mouth with hers, threads her fingers through his ginger hair.  “And when we take the iron throne everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will know of my love for you.”  Jorah begins to rock Daenerys by her hips, eliciting a soft moan and a deep kiss from her.  When their lips break apart two words falls from hers.  “ _My husband_.”

 

 

It is not until two days have passed that Tyrion mentions the incident, choosing the hours following a grand feast to broach the subject.  The imp had been inclined to leave the whole thing unremarked upon, but the feast had once again peaked his interest in the young Targaryen Queen and her disgraced Knight.  Even with a hefty cup of wine in his hand Tyrion had noticed their shared glances, the soft exchange of their private smiles.  Tyrion had noticed Ser Jorah flinch every time Daario Naharis laid so much as a glance, let alone a finger on the Queen, and the mollifying looks she would subtly direct at her bear.  It was as if she could sense his discomfort, was attuned to it.  After observing the performance all night, Tyrion felt somehow entitled to an explanation. 

 

Missandei had passed on Tyrion’s request for an audience with the Khaleesi, if Daenerys was amenable.  Her loyal friend had offered to fetch Tyrion if Daenerys wished.  She opted instead to meet Tyrion in his own chambers. 

“Graced with the presence of the Queen!”  Tyrion states grandly upon her arrival, before gesturing behind him.  “I apologise, I wasn’t expecting company.” 

“Since you requested an audience, it seems a reasonable thing to prepare for.”  Daenerys says, running her fingers idly over a table edge.

“A fair point.”  The Lannister acknowledges, gesturing for her to sit.

“What is it that you wish to discuss, Tyrion?”  She queries, fanning her skirts out as she settles herself in the proffered seat.  Tyrion, despite having grown surrounded by nobility, is taken by the dignity in her. 

“Ser Jorah.” 

She raises an eyebrow that says ‘go on’, though she does not let the words to pass her lips.  She is defensive of her bear, but still, in some part of her she wishes she could rid herself of, she is suspicious of him given past experience.  She is braced for Tyrion to reveal a betrayal, although she could scarcely bring herself to believe it.

“He loves you very deeply, Daenerys.”  She maintains her level gaze.  “He would take a rejection from you very badly, particularly given your recent... intimate liaison.”  Tyrion raises a cup to his lips while Daenerys attempts to suppress a knowing smile.

“I would tread carefully if I were you.”  She remarks, although there is amusement lacing her tone. 

“Treading carefully is not one of my skills.”  The Lannister remarks.

“There is no reason I should share any of this with you, but given your unfortunate intrusion the other day...”  She rests her head lightly on her fingers.  “I have no intention of rejecting him.  My feelings run as deeply as his.” 

“And Daario?” 

“Daario is a distraction.  Jorah is my home.” 

“So, it is the brave bear who steals the heart of the Mother of Dragons.”  Tyrion barely realises he’s said this aloud as he mulls it over in his mind.

“It was requested and given willingly.”  Daenerys says, waiting to see if she will have to make the situation any clearer for the Lannister.  The realisation that dawns on him is visible even to the unobservant eye.

“How did you manage to keep such a secret?”

“I am a Queen.”  She retorts, as if this is a reasonable explanation.

“Precisely why news of your marriage would be of great interest to your subjects.  It seems unfathomable that such gossip wouldn’t have spread.”

“The ceremony was performed by a very close confidante.”  She says obtusely.  _Missandei_.  Tyrion, correctly, deduces. 

“Naturally.  For what could be worse than to have the Seven Kingdoms learn that the Breaker of Chains has chained herself to an ageing Knight rather than any of the young suitors that doubtlessly come knocking at her door.”

“You will not speak to me in such a manner and continue to enjoy the luxury of all your appendages.”  Daenerys snaps.  Tyrion has never heard her do so quite like this.  It seems, he considers, that she is genuinely defensive of old Mormont.  Perhaps even fond.

Her continuance is more than he deserves, but she does nonetheless.  “It is for his protection only that I lie.  I will not have him targeted because of me.  I will not have him lose his life for me.”

“He pledged to give his life for yours long ago.”

“And now he has pledged to give his life to me.”  She adjusts her skirts, eyes falling on her lap.  “I will not lose him.  We have come through too many fires to burn now.” 

“He is a lucky man to have the love of such a Queen as Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“He is a luckier man not to have lost his head in battle.”  She quips, her lips pulling into a dry smile.  Tyrion raises his cup at this and takes a healthy draught, silently dedicating the drink to Jorah’s health.  Daenerys rises from her place.

“I trust this conversation will go no further?”  She queries, although it isn’t at all a question.

“Of course, my Queen.”  He is being supercilious. She ignores this.

 

Jorah is almost asleep when he feels a small female form slide into bed beside him.  The woman in question moulds herself to his back, burrowing her face into the curve of his neck. 

“I had almost given you up for lost.”  He mumbles, voice roughened by weariness and mead.  He reaches for her hand as he speaks and pulls her arm around his chest. 

Daenerys takes a languid breath of him, her nose against the skin of his shoulder blade.  She kisses a muscle she finds there, and feels a familiar rush of gratitude for finding such a love, and terror that she might lose it.

“I will never be lost to you, my bear.”   Then, with a smile pulling at her lips, she adds.  “And I promise to work on improving my record of keeping you waiting.”

Jorah brings her fingers to his lips.  “I have always found you to be worth the wait.”


End file.
